


Slipping From Mind

by ambivalentangst



Series: Into His Fold [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Gaslighting, Gen, Guilt, Heavy Mention of Gamora, Iron Dad, Peter Parker Deserves Better, Physical and Emotional Manipulation, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Reality Stone (Marvel), Soul Stone (Marvel), Tony Stark Has A Heart, Use of Infinity Stones and Gauntlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 10:22:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17222186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambivalentangst/pseuds/ambivalentangst
Summary: Tony builds to reach his child, made sane only by telling himself he’s not too late. It doesn’t matter for Peter, anyway. Maybe Tony will come; maybe he won’t. He’ll still have a father to keep him, the same one who ruins his faith in rescue.





	Slipping From Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so like,, it’s been a hot second but this did not take nearly as long as the last update so, , u kno,, progress. This part kicked my ass to write if we’re being honest—I just couldn’t get it to flow right—but!!! In the course of, like, an afternoon, I finished her up and this bad boy is good to go!!
> 
> I’m thinking that this series will probably have one more installment after this one to bring the main plotline to a close, but should the inspiration strike me, I’m not at all opposed to a mini-series set within this universe, containing fics written as inspiration strikes. 
> 
> Thank you for following along this far with what I have written!! It really means more than you all know, and as always, I am incredibly grateful for your guys’ support.
> 
> If you want to come yell at me about this au, I have a Marvel-only blog now that can be found [here!](https://ambivalentmarvel.tumblr.com) I hope you like the fic!

Peter took a few hesitant steps onto the ship, his eyes going left, right, and then settling on Tony. His jaw clenched and he looked over his shoulder for a second. “Where should I sit, Mr. Stark?” The words were halting, careful despite his unwavering voice. Peter saw the concern in Tony’s eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain.

Thanos always had a plan, a role Peter was to play and was to mirror in everything he did, no matter how insignificant. How could he possibly tell his mentor that he’d gone from swinging across skyscrapers and flipping off shitty cops to not knowing what seat to take? The look in his eyes—the guilt, the fear, the pity Peter didn’t deserve anymore—would only get worse, and Peter wasn’t sure he could take that.

Tony looked around and then motioned to the seat next to him. “Anywhere, champ, but if you want, it’d be cool to see you. It’s been—”

Tony tapered off. He could say months, take a stab at quantifying the time Thanos manipulated to do as he pleased with Peter. It didn’t feel right though, not when his kid was standing there, too pale and somber, yet to flash even one of his smiles that could light up the dark side of the moon. Tony glanced at the control panel before he could look back to Peter. “It’s been too long. I’ve missed you,” he finished.

Tony Stark didn’t do emotions and certainly didn’t do them in public, but Peter was standing _right there_ —safe by most definitions—and looked just as uncertain as ever beneath the mask Tony was still working on seeing through.

Peter was not offered even the illusion of choice often under his _father’s_ control, but he’d learned by now that it was just easier to make people happy right off the bat. He filed obediently to where Tony wanted, not looking at him even once.

Sure, Peter had _seen_ the blue woman sink a blade through Thanos’ armor and into his heart in a killing blow. He’d watched the gauntlet fall to the ground and the stones shine painfully.

(The sight was not unfamiliar, but for once, Peter was granted the mercy of being able to look away.)

He suspected people would start reappearing where they’d been lost and didn’t let himself think about how messy resurrection would be. That didn’t change the fact that Peter was absolutely positive that he’d somehow messed things up worse than ever before, and this was his worst punishment yet.

Peter was waiting for when this version of reality would wear thin, and he’d lose all of the hope that he was already desperately trying to crush.

* * *

The only reason they were allowed to plan was that despite Tony’s genius—his, Bruce’s, and the raccoon’s—it took some time to replicate the technology from a single ship into an armada, not to mention the extra weapons Tony was making for the second go-round.

Tony was told by the old-new queen that her daughter would’ve cut that time in half.

Tools and ideas passed in subdued murmurs between the three of them, aside from the wrench Tony threw into the wall with an aggravated shout after speaking with May Parker.

(How was it worse to tell a woman her son was alive than dead?)

Tony could usually ship Bruce off to bed with help from Thor. For himself and Rocket, sleep was usually suggested by Steve and enforced by Nebula.

“Later,” he’d tell him and continue doing the same thing, no end to his work in sight. Steve usually grumbled, tried to argue. Tony didn’t have the energy to fight with him, and for once, just went silent. That disturbed Steve more than he’d ever admit out loud, and he tended to retreat before long.

Steve conceded defeat, but Tony rarely got even another hour out of that before Nebula slinked into the room.

“Fox, Tony, you need to rest,” she declared in that low way of hers, coarse as ever.

Tony hardly looked up to acknowledge her presence. “As soon as we’re finished with this next bit,” he lied, Rocket on his back and shoved under the belly of the ship they were constructing. Her metal fist crashed through the part his oil-stained hands were handling. His head snapped up, eyes shot through with red screaming murder.

Nebula crossed her arms, face composed of nothing but stone. “Rest,” she repeated. It was not up for debate. Her hand trailed alarmingly close to another piece of machinery. Tony had never been good at following directions. It was a good thing, then, that Nebula didn’t instruct so much as command.

Rocket had only been dragged away biting once or twice before he realized that his efforts hurt himself more than her.

Tony was more resigned to his fate. With his door closed and the soundproof walls of the Wakandan palace, Nebula couldn’t do much when he woke up screaming and refused to go back to sleep.

Tony usually spent those nights calling Pepper, grateful for the time difference as he told her about what they’d accomplished that day and forced cheer into his voice.

He was pretty sure she saw right through him.

Between the two of them, there was very little talk of weddings and even less of children of their own.

* * *

Peter thought of Earth often. He never voiced the desire to return home, but under the guilt left from smoldering villages and families he tore to shreds, it was there. In particular, he wondered just how far he was away from everything that he’d ever known.

Peter could feel Thanos’ eyes on him as he stared out the window, fingers resting on the glass. He’d always liked space. It was just so _big_ , so vast and incomprehensible. He’d been part of it, once. He pressed his forehead to the glass, a phantom of the pins and needles that turned to knives and sabers as Peter had been undone washing over him. He’d give anything to still be dust, coming together to form new worlds in the inky blackness Peter was only barely kept back from.

The planets he razed—not even under Thanos’ direct eye anymore—would sympathize with that desire.

“Peter, come here,” Thanos instructed.

His hand left the window and he turned, only to hear the sound of a blast that made him weak in the knees. He _knew_ that sound. He’d heard it countless times in Germany, even more when he started coming to the compound to work alongside the man who brought him there. Thanos fell to the ground, mouth parted in surprise. Over his body was a familiar red and gold suit, its hand still held out to attack.

Peter drew back like he’d been slapped, staring up at the familiar face plate. The repulsor had died down, and the suit took a step forward. Peter was frozen, staring at Thanos’ form littering the ground. The faceplate lifted.

“Pete?”

Thanos remained still, and Peter’s back hit the glass he’d been admiring the view from a few moments previous.

“Pete? Kid, it’s me. I’m here.”

Peter was trying to process it; Tony was standing there, and Thanos _still wasn’t moving_. “Mr. Stark?” he asked, his stoic facade faltering with the way his voice cracked, uncertain.

“Right here.”

Peter couldn’t stand it any longer. He broke, limbs flying to carry him to Tony and mash his face into his armor. It didn’t crumple like Thanos’ had, the nanites making way to let Peter feel Tony’s warmth, the steady rise and fall of his chest. “Mr. Stark—oh my god, Mr. Stark,” he whispered, feeling familiar, calloused hands cup his cheeks. Tony was staring at him like he was trying to memorize his every feature, dark eyes full of an innate kindness Peter had been denied the sight of for far too long.

Peter didn’t see, didn’t hear Thanos get up until Tony began to flake at the edges, his eyes wide as indigo threaded its way through his face and tore him away from Peter. He landed in a slump, the arm caught beneath him twisted at an angle that couldn’t possibly be healthy. Peter was paralyzed again, waiting for him to stir.

Things got hazy from there.

Tony’s screams crashed through Peter’s mind along with his face as Thanos had him dragged to the dungeons. Peter remembered being chastised, the world shifting in a swirl of blue until Earth loomed before the ship, and Thanos clenched his fist.

Peter thought he probably screamed, seeing the same violet that took Tony break Peter’s home into a billion tiny pieces, into the ash that Peter wished he’d never been reformed from. All those lives, lost because Peter couldn’t stay put. He was pretty sure he launched himself at Thanos, who dealt with his flailing, furious limbs by taking one of his wrists in hand and snapping it cleanly in two.

Peter screamed again, but by then, there was very little difference in the amount of tears streaking down his cheeks. Besides, it wasn’t a _scream_ so much as a _howl_ , just in time for the destruction the ship was floating through to disappear in a wash of scarlet.

Peter paused, staring at the stars blinking calmly at him once more. He cradled his bad arm to his chest, a choked sound punched out of him. How could he? How could he be so cruel as to give Peter hope and then crush it like it— _like Peter_ —was nothing.

Other than the flash of orange that followed his ensuing sobs, Peter lost track of what happened from there entirely.

He came to on the bed he only occasionally was permitted to sleep in, Thanos seated a short distance away. Peter almost instantly tensed, sitting up and making sure his tone was level, betraying none of the terror that gripped him as he tried to recall what had occurred. “Hello, father.”

What had he done?

He’d broken rules: lashed out against Thanos, lost his composure. He could only hope he hadn’t done anything worse in the time he couldn’t remember.

Thanos looked up, looked him over. “Peter,” he greeted him, still sitting. “It’s good to see you awake. You wore yourself out with that little stunt of yours, but I suppose I’m to blame for that as well.”

Peter held back a flinch. The building sense of unease within him grew. Thanos never admitted to making a mistake with Peter, never. “It’s okay, father. I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”

Then, Thanos rose, striding over to hold Peter’s arm, small and fragile when put against his own. “I’ve healed this for you,” he informed him, ignoring Peter’s apology. “You were rather incensed. I hoped to bring you to reason, but ultimately, you had to be put down with the stones.”

Peter hated the way he spoke about him, as though he were a particularly unruly pet.

Thanos let him go, brushing the hair out of his eyes instead. “I didn’t quite expect the intensity of your reaction, but it’s over now. We’re together. But, Peter—” Thanos tipped Peter’s head up. The action was not exactly rough, but it couldn’t be called kind, either. “—I thought a reminder would do you good, now that I’ve entrusted you to work without my supervision.”

Peter pretended to believe that there was a reason for his tests. He understood that it was easier to play along, even when he knew Thanos just wanted to see how much he could bend him before he snapped.

“Should you ever run, ever deviate from our cause, there will be consequences. Things will be easier if you stay right where you are, where I can keep you safe. Isn’t that right, my son?”

Peter’s breaths came short, lashes brushing his cheeks as he blinked away the vision of Tony’s battered form, the Earth imploding under the weight of Peter’s misdeeds. His head dipped in a nod. “As usual, father,” he murmured, hating that the embrace that followed was the truth in his situation.

* * *

Tony stared at Nebula, whose knuckles were white on the armrest as they drew closer to Thanos’ fleet, their ships cloaked and bristling with fighters ready to get Peter. “You good?” he asked her carefully, already knowing the answer. The real question was if she would tell him the truth.

She spat her response at him, hands balled into fists. “What do you think, Stark? I’m going to most likely see the monster who tortured me my entire life and steal another child he’s ruined from him. Does that sound like _good_ to you?”

Usually, Tony would probably offer her his unique brand of comfort, a witty quip that acknowledged her misgivings but didn’t revel in them. As it was, he didn’t take kindly to her wording. “Peter’s not going to be ruined.” His voice was low, barbed. She didn’t get to make that prediction, not when they were this close and had come so far. His kid might be damaged, yeah. Bruised, fractured in a few areas? Almost definitely. Tony had ruined plenty of things in his lifetime. He’d die himself before he let Peter be another of them.

Nebula sneered, pushing him back a little. Tony didn’t take it personally; Nebula would probably shove her way through all of the universe’s problems if she could. “Do you know what they called your Peter when we docked for supplies?”

Tony gritted his teeth. He’d very pointedly _not_ gone with them to get what was needed because he guessed that there would be people talking about him. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his cool if that talk was full of hate, instead of pity. “Enlighten me,” he ground out, choosing not to add fuel to the fire by telling her Peter wasn’t anyone’s.

Nebula met his gaze and refused to look away, onyx sparking on oak. “They don’t know his name, so they’re referring to him as Cind. Means leaver-of-ash in the language of one of the planets he’s destroyed. You think your son is coming back to you anything like he was when he went in? You’re delusional, Stark. Whatever we manage to get out, you’re not going to recognize it.”

Tony felt his breath rattling around in his chest, hating the very real possibility that Nebula was right. “He’s not an _it_ ,” was all he growled, in the end, unable to defend any better.

It didn’t even occur to him to say that Peter wasn’t his kid.

* * *

Peter could never be sure what was truly happening, anymore. He listened to any version of Thanos that was present, and things usually worked out. When they didn’t, that was just another circumstance to harden his face in, to close his eyes and keep tears at bay for.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Tony try to rescue him, after all.

His back pressed into Thanos’ chest, the gauntlet glinting in the corner of his eye. It got no easier; vision after vision still made his heart ache for a future he’d never have. It was best to hold still, let what Thanos dreamt up happen.

This time was a little different. After all, normally Tony was his only knight in shining armor. Today, more Avengers stood at his side, a few that he’d never seen before. Peter kept his face free of emotion. He would not weaken, would not let Thanos know exactly how much he wanted to grab onto Tony and never let go.

Thanos’ voice was cold. That was new too. He normally softened for Peter, made a more compassionate version of himself for the boy he decided was his son.

“I assume I know what you’re here for,” he began, a hand on Peter’s shoulder steering him as they began to walk, “and I must say, I’m impressed you got this far. My guard is nothing short of remarkable, even without its most important member.” The hand on Peter’s shoulder moved to his neck. It didn’t grip, but a finger ran across its smooth surface. It was a good thing Peter’s urge to shake when he got too emotional had been exterminated. He didn’t so much as draw a heavier breath.

“Let the child go, Thanos,” the blue woman growled. Everyone was frozen in place, but Peter could feel their eyes on him. The tingling of his spine that promised danger lurking around some unseen corner was going wild. That was also weird. The distortions Thanos presented him with didn’t normally activate it. He supposed it was only a matter of time before his body learned that not all threats were physical.

“My _son_ will stay at my side,” he corrected her, voice edging dangerously close to a snarl. “The lot of you may leave now, and perhaps if you’re prompt I’ll allow you to live. Besides,” Peter’s breath caught in his throat, watching the mind stone wink a warning, “none of us want Peter hurt, but I’m willing to make him collateral.”

Later, Peter would reason that someone made a move Thanos didn’t like. In the moment, he had no warning before yellow light exploded behind his eyes and he fell to his knees. A sound that couldn’t possibly be real but _was_ screeched in his ears, inescapable and splitting. Peter felt fire race along his skin, more sensitive than he’d ever felt it, and he shrieked. It’d never been that bad before. Peter clamped his hands onto the sides of his head, desperate for anything to stop the pressure, the _pain_ overloading his entire body.

“ _Please_ ,” he begged to anybody that was listening, the plead barely decipherable in his agonized cries. Someone had to make it stop, he couldn’t take it.

He could barely focus on the battle raging around him, the blows being exchanged, the arrival of someone new. It was immobilizing, all of it. Only near the end, when the pain died down enough for Peter’s screams to turn into whimpers, could he see some of what was happening.

The Hulk’s roars made Peter flinch with their volume, but he thought it was cool that he was there. Likewise, the glowing woman was pretty amazing. Peter looked at her and saw a supernova contained within a person, though the power radiating off her made him instinctively shy away. There was so much happening that hadn’t the first time Peter fought him, it was too much to process. He ducked his head into his hands, panting. Thanos was going to be mad, but the floor was frigid, Peter’s head was still ringing, and he couldn’t fathom having the energy to get up. He stayed put, watching the blue woman sink one of her blades through his armor and into his heart.

Peter had a notion, through the aftershocks of the pain, that it was odd for Thanos to be felled that way. Normally, it was Tony. Then again, normally Peter was being punished for entertaining the idea of escape by now. Peter shook his head, only partially aware of the voice calling out to him from the gauntlet.

He’d long surmised that the stones were sentient. It made very little difference in the long run, but he swore they spoke to him, whispered nothings that flitted away just as soon as they were uttered.

He grimaced, turning away when orange light wormed past his closed eyes. Not again, please no. Why wasn’t it over, already? It never took this long. The voice again, reaching through to his mind.

“ _Peter, take the stone._ ”

His eyes cracked open, watching people crowd him, Tony bringing him close. If he wasn’t already so tired, he might’ve screamed. Tony wasn’t safe, he had to go. Thanos would get back up, like always. Everyone had to leave, he wanted to say, but all Peter could do was lean into his embrace and wish it were his to keep.

“ _Take the stone, Peter, please. You can do it.”_

Peter hadn’t seen the woman, her face green and marked with patterns Peter had never seen before, looming over him during the fight. He shook his head. He wanted nothing to do with the gauntlet. The gauntlet was Thanos’, and anything having to do with him couldn’t be trusted, Peter included.

The woman’s touch was kind, and slowly, Peter struggled to his feet, face blank. Tony asked what he was doing, the supernova of a woman eyed him distrustfully, but Peter kept walking.

“ _A little farther.”_

Peter bent down, his fingers hovering just above the gem, above Thanos. He still hadn’t stirred, the blade still protruded from his chest, but Peter figured it was only a matter of time. It always was. He heard Tony yell his protest, but Peter’s fingers were skimming the stone and he felt something wet lap at his feet as the grey of his surroundings blurred into a world stained the color of a sunset.

The idea that he should be scared crossed his mind. After all, just about the only thing of substance he knew about Gamora was how she died.

“ _You’ve already paid, Peter. Just finish it. You’re so close.”_

Peter felt a memory that wasn’t his own edge into his head, a sinuous voice that sent shivers up his spine.

“ _The stone demands a sacrifice—in order to take the stone, you must lose that which you love. A soul for a soul.”_

“Just fix it. Whatever he’s done, fix it,” he whispered, more a prayer than a command. Regardless, the stone obeyed.

Souls were funny things, could love the masses as much as an individual and then be made to turn on them. Souls were funny things, warped into something else entirely when forced into everything they didn’t believe in. Souls were funny in that sacrificing one didn’t always mean the loss of a life.

Peter closed his eyes and woke in Tony’s arms. His mentor held him, whispered that he was okay, and Peter muttered things that nearly all ended in _Mr. Stark_.

Peter might’ve even enjoyed the affection if he believed it would last.


End file.
